Orcs At Home
by Virtuella
Summary: A bizarre encounter of two sets of characters from two totally different stories of mine - Orcs At School and Truth Be Told.


_On special request by Linda Hoyland, I am posting this "deleted scene" from Truth Be Told which is, in a way, a sequel to Orcs At School. Several people have raised the question what would become of the two misfit orclings, and this is your answer. I had originally planned this for chapter 20 of Truth be Told, but decided against it because it didn't really fit the overall concept of that story. However, I hope that, as a one-shot, you'll find it amusing. Middle-earth belongs to Tolkien._

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><p>"There is a house over there," said Niarl and pointed. Indeed, a building was tucked away half-hidden between hawthorn bushes, not three hundred yards away. They steered their horses towards it. When they drew nearer, they saw that it was hardly a house, but nothing more than a small cabin, neatly built, with a thatched roof and green shutters. It was surrounded by a waist-high woven reed fence and they saw chickens scratching the ground among meagre blades of grass. The house was squat and seemed too low to allow a man to stand up straight. There was no sign of horses.<p>

Déoric felt his heartbeat pick up.

"Hobytla," he whispered. "Could it be true, Niarl?"

"There's an easy way to find out," said Niarl and moved his horse forward. Just at that moment, the door opened and out steeped – an orc.

There was no mistaking the bow-legged, crooked shape. The two men drew their swords without a second's hesitation. The orc, however, held up both hands, palms outward, and hailed them in the language of the Mark. Only then did they notice that he was unarmed. His belt held nothing but a piece of rope and a wooden spoon. He was also dressed, not in the vile rags his kind usually wore, but in a neat dark green tunic. And he smiled.

It was no orcish grin, no showing of fangs in anticipation of slaughter. It was a rather shy and somewhat helpless smile, but a smile without doubt.

"Um," said Niarl.

"Please," repeated the orc, "don't harm us. We have done nothing wrong."

"How many of you are there?" said Niarl sharply, sword still in hand. "And what are you doing here?"

"We live here," replied the orc. "Just me and my wife and the little one."

Déoric and Niarl exchanged a suspicious look, but as if to confirm the orc's words, a second figure appeared in the doorway, carrying a third, tiny orc.

It had to be a female. Her greenish garment reached to the ground and her greasy black hair was plaited into two braids and tied with yellow ribbons. Nobody would have called her face lovely, but she wore the same helpless smile as her mate. The orc child was asleep with its head leaning against her shoulder.

Déoric let his sword sink. Two seconds later, Niarl followed his example. An awkward silence stretched out between them and this uncanny family.

"Are you lost?" said the orc after a while. "Horse people don't usually come anywhere near us."

"We're on our way to a village we've been told is to be found along the river," said Déoric.

"It's not far from here," said the orc woman. "On your horses, an hour, maybe less."

"Do the people in the village know of you?"

"Yes. They leave us in peace," said the orc man. "We do no harm."

"The Elder of that village is a kind man," added the orc woman. "Before we came here, we were driven out from other places again and again. But this Elder understands that we mean no harm to anyone and just want to live in peace."

"You can't tell me that orcs are nice!" cried Niarl.

"Oh no, they're not," said the orc in a bitter voice. "Orcs are cruel and disgusting. Trushgk and I, we never fitted in. It was horrible at school. I don't know why we're different, but we are. We like to be friendly and talk quietly. When we were little, our parents hit us for being nice, but they protected us from the other orcs, too. Once we grew older, we always had to hide and make sure other orcs didn't get us."

"Eventually, we couldn't stand it anymore," said the orc woman. "So we ran away. Five years ago. We've never looked back."

"Sooner or later they would have killed us," said the orc. "And eaten us."

The two orcs looked at each other and shuddered. Déoric realised that he was staring at them with his mouth open. Apparently, he had been doing so for some time, because when he closed it, his tongue and the roof of his mouth felt dry. He glanced at Niarl and saw that his friend was chewing one of his braids.

"And now you live here..." said Déoric, because the situation demanded that he said something, though he couldn't for the life of him think of anything sensible to say.

"Yes," said the orc. "We bother nobody and nobody bothers us. It's the best life we've ever had."

"I would invite you to share our meal," said the orc woman and jiggled the orcling, who had awoken, on her arms, "but I'm afraid you wouldn't like our food. We're having fried grubs tonight and the leftovers from yesterday's cockchafer pie. Cockchafers are very nourishing, but you would probably find them bitter. You're welcome to stay the night, though. I could make you a hay bed in the attic."

"Um, that is very kind of you," said Déoric, "but I think we shall press on. I mean, since you say the village is not far... no offence..."

"That's quite all right," said the orc. "It would have been nice to...make some friends. But we understand. Farewell. We wish you speed on your journey."

"Thank you," said Déoric and, for lack of anything else to say, bowed his head. Niarl muttered something incomprehensible. They turned their horses and headed back towards the river valley. When Déoric looked over his shoulder he saw that the orcs stood by their door and waved. The orcling waved, too.

"That," said Déoric as they rode along the stream towards the village, "was easily the most bizarre thing that has ever happened to me in my whole life. How much did we drink last night?"

"Not _that_ much," said Niarl.

"Good grief, I never even knew they had women!"

"Now, Déoric, don't be silly, of course they have women. Otherwise, how would they, you know..."

They both shuddered at the thought.

"Cockchafer pie," muttered Déoric. "Who would believe it?"

"Nobody. I suppose I should be grateful that you didn't try to draw _them_, too."

"Maybe I should have."

They rode on in silence for a while. Déoric's thoughts were torn between the discovery of that odd family and the memory of his father's grave. At last they saw the first houses of the village in a ravine leading off from the western bank.

"Promise me one thing, Déoric," said Niarl after they had forded the river.

"And what would that be?"

"Do not, under any circumstances, tell Éomer King about this."


End file.
